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  • Looked for it again today,
    my every other Tuesday search
    along the shelves of 811.54
    still not there, fight back
    the disappointment, as if
    its being there would be
    a validation, but that isn't true
    being a poet is like being a tree,
    well, not Kilmer's tree,
    but any tree within the forest
    or standing in a farmer's field,
    another book along the shelf
    is no different that a ship
    in Neruda's sea off Isla Negra,
    swallowed up and dissolved
    among the bindings and the pages
    who never notice or care,
    but I would notice. I would care.

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